


Dice With the Universe

by redbrickrose



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Wishverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrickrose/pseuds/redbrickrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Timeline: Through "Timebomb," but set in the Wishverse.<br/>Originally posted 11/2004.</p><p>Thanks to velvetandlace for the beta.  Originally written for debxena for leni_ba's cya_ficathon.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Dice With the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Through "Timebomb," but set in the Wishverse.  
> Originally posted 11/2004.
> 
> Thanks to velvetandlace for the beta. Originally written for debxena for leni_ba's cya_ficathon.

She'd been there before, and she was losing control. Time was a linear measure. Time was a personal force. Time couldn't fight her will, not until she was trapped in the physical limitations of the shell; bound not only by time but by dimension. It would not obey and could not contain her.  
She'd had those conversations; she'd said those words and lifted those weapons. She'd felt the betrayal that once would never have reached her. Those who would harm her lay dead at her feet. Blew dust in the air.  
She reached the moment and she knew only in the moment, at the end, that her confusion wasn't them but the shell breaking apart under her weight and strain. Her power bled out, leaking from her body in a slow steady seep she couldn't control.  
Time circled and spun; falling and twisting and bleeding. Her companions lay dead.  
No, she rescued Gunn.  
No, they would destroy her. The challenge in Angel's eyes.  
"You would do this to me?"  
And Wes said, "I'd try anyway. Every time."  
She ripped apart. It was over and beginning and over again.

***

When she opened her eyes she was alone.  
The training room was different, unfamiliar. The moment was new. More than that, the air had a different quality. Things were the same, but everything had changed: the light was lower; the scents were sharper and sour; a low whine of tension was reaching her. Not a sound but a feeling. She wasn't where she had been; something here was wrong. At a foundational level, something was wrong. The difference caught at the edge of her thoughts, just eluding her strangely limited and still foreign almost-human senses.

She heard them coming before they were on her. She hesitated, moved more slowly than usual. If they'd been expecting her they might have caught her, in that moment before time bent to her will, but they weren't expecting her. The men with guns were on the ground before they could think to fire, almost before they knew she had not obeyed their call to stand still.

Illyria paused when her time slowed again. It was under her control. She was back in the timeline, or a timeline. The men on the ground watched her. She watched them. The woman in the doorway clapped.  
"Well now, that was just impressive."

She was impressive herself, for a human; though she was nondescript, dressed like any of the women wandering the halls of Wolfram and Hart in muted colors and dagger heels. Those women shied away from Illyria, used to demons but afraid of what couldn't be known or controlled. This one approached with a caution that denied challenge even as her smile denied Illyria's power to harm her. She gave off confidence like a scent.  
Illyria hated her. The feeling hit her suddenly, irrationally, piercing her with unrecognizable emotion rising from depths of memories that were not her own. She stiffened, cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.  
Winifred Burkle had hated this woman.

***

To be human after the end of the world required courage. To be human in a position of power required grace and strength. It required a cold sense of humor and a loss of any vestigial conscience or guilt.  
Lilah Morgan had learned well. Wolfram and Hart operated in every dimension, and every dimension had been bleeding into hers for years. Dealing with the displaced inhabitants of those dimensions was literally in her job description, written into the new contracts when everything literally went to hell and had to be reevaluated. Disgusted, she stepped over the unconscious bodies on the floor and approached the demon cautiously. She hid her intimidation but never took her attention off the strange woman-creature in front of her. She was not shocked by the situation - awed, perhaps, but not shocked - at least not until she asked for a name. The demon answered dismissively, as though she could not be bothered by Lilah's presence. Lilah started, taking a step back before regaining her composure.  
"Illyria," she whispered, "Damn it, Lindsey. I thought you took care of that."

"I did," Lindsey insisted later, pulling Lilah around the corner. He craned his head to study Illyria where she stood staring absently through the glass at the technicians in the laboratory. "No," he amended, "we did. You know we did."  
"Yeah. We did, except that apparently we didn't, so what do we know?"  
"They say we're protected here, that nothing from another dimension should show up in the building. That it just did. Essentially what we already knew." He shrugged, "I'm still stuck on the 'this is Illyria' thing. That's a problem."  
"Knox and his friends are locked up, the coffin is back in the deeper well; everything's fine, then what? A month later, this?"  
"Everything is never fine here Lilah," Lindsey shook his head, "I don't know how this happened. If she's even who she claims."  
Lilah sighed, leaning against the wall and passing a hand over her eyes, "We can't go to Holland. If the Partners find out Illyria escaped after all . . ." she shuddered. "I'm not taking the fall for this."  
"Nobody has to. Yet."  
"Okay. We get her out of the building."  
"First we talk to Knox."  
She nodded, "first we talk to Knox."

***

She was staring at her Quo'ha Xaan. They dumped him on the floor of a lab that might as well have been Fred's. The equipment was older and the staff more harried. There were far fewer humans than she was accustomed to seeing at Wolfram and Hart, but there were familiar faces, whether familiar from her memory or the shell's she wasn't sure.  
Knox was dirty and disheveled. According to Lindsey, he was in good shape for someone who had been caught openly defying the senior partners. Knox rubbed at his chained wrists, watching all of them defiantly. He looked at Illyria, then turned to Lindsey, "Well. She's kinda scary looking."  
"Knox, this is Illyria."  
He paled, "I didn't do it."  
"Knox . . ."  
"You say this is Illyria? Well, you've had me locked in your basement for a month now. I'd know if Illyria rose. I'd know."  
"Is it Illyria?" Lilah hissed, "Can you tell?"

Watching the man huddled on the floor and the clear confusion of those standing beside her, Illyria understood. She'd once walked dimensions and time at will. What she hadn't done - because it was not done - was venture into a universe not her own. The dimensions belonged to her universe, and so to her, but this place did not. The sickly feeling, the sense that she didn't belong . . . she had a double that would force her out. A double still dormant or the weakening dimension would not have held their combined power.  
Illyria interrupted the conversation around her, turning to Lilah.  
"He is not responsible for my presence; I am not of your world."  
She was gone before they could react, caring nothing for it. They knew nothing more than she did. Inevitably, they knew less.

***

Wolfram and Hart had been barely any preparation for facing the streets of LA. The humans there had behaved fairly normally. Here there were still very few, and those that were there scuttled and hurried, looking nervously around them and shying from shadows. They stopped, eyes wide, to stare at her when she allowed herself to be seen; they hurried on. The demons walked openly, and far outnumbered the humans. They were of varied species, but even many of them seemed cautious. They might stop to threaten a wary human. They might fall on each other in a sudden burst of anger, a bravado induced release to the tension that permeated everything, but even they looked about with nervous, shifting eyes. Above her, Illyria heard a roar. It was a familiar sound, but incongruous with the time and place. She caught sight of the tail of the dragon as it disappeared from sight. The sky was murky, black with cloud cover, not with night, and lit occasionally with a lightning surge, streaking and burning the sky. She caught a familiar scent and followed it through dark alleys, through the twists of poorly lit LA streets, and she didn't know what was the same or different. She hadn't seen enough of the city to know.  
She came upon him in an alley, bent over a blonde woman slumped in his arms.  
"Spike," Illyria said, turning the corner. He looked up, startled at not hearing her approach. He shook his head out of the demon face, and wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He released the victim and she slumped to his feet. He, at least, looked the same, platinum blonde hair, black leather coat, distinctive smirk. He raised an eyebrow.  
"Who the bloody hell are you?"

She followed him through the streets as he carried his still breathing but unconscious victim in his arms. Everything was quiet, and the sky hung eerily low, dark and sick. No one stopped to stare at her and Spike as they passed; demons and humans hurried on their way. "This dimension is wrong," she began.  
"Right," he sighed, trying to remember her earlier explanation, "Because you're from a parallel universe."  
"My world has deteriorated since my time, but the nature of this one . . . I have never witnessed such a convergence."  
"We had the apocalypse a few years back, might have something to do with it."  
"The world has suffered an apocalypse. You speak with flippancy of a cataclysm."  
"Happened when some hell god took out the vampire slayer in Jamaica. Honestly, when it happened we all thought it would be worse, portals opening everywhere, crazy flying things flying through. Thought we were all dead. Things calmed down, though. It sucks for those still breathing. Sometimes it sucks for those of who eat the still breathing . . ." he shrugged. "The world's still standing, for what it is. Mainly we get them," he jerked his head upwards, and she got another vision of a disappearing dragon. "Demons I've never seen before. The portals can't be closed between dimensions; they're all bleeding in, or so says Wolfram and Hart."  
"This world is rotting," she said again.  
He studied her, "Yeah, Drusilla says that too."

The house was decrepit, but no more so than anything else on the street. He pushed open the creaking door against some resistance. It was dusty inside, musty smelling, but with a mixture of something sick and sweet. Human blood, and not fresh. "Dru?" Spike called out softly.  
She lay on the couch, tangled in blankets, thick hair matted around her face.  
"Spike," she answered, attempting to push herself into a sitting position. The blanket slid down her torso, revealing her thinness. Her arms were sticks and the nightgown she wore enveloped her, hanging off her frame. Dark hair swallowed her too thin face like a sheath. Spike dragged the unconscious woman to the side of the couch.  
"How are you feeling, love? Are you strong enough to eat?"  
She whimpered, "It's like eating a lie."  
"Try, for me."  
She nodded and he eased the woman into her lap; Drusilla bit from the wrist, though she made a face at the first draught. Illyria watched with mild interest until Drusilla jerked up, staring at her.  
"So much power, but it doesn't belong. This world is already sinking, and the bottom falls out ..." She trailed off. Spike shook his head, smoothing her hair and whispering comforting words in her ear. When Dru quieted, Spike looked up at Illyria.  
"So. Why me?"  
"In my world . . .You are not as you are."  
"How's that then?"  
She shook her head.  
"She is injured. Too weak to live."  
Spike glared, but Drusilla looked up, swaying a little. "Angry men with angry sticks."  
Spike flinched, "It was a mob in Prague about six years back. She had more strength when we were on the Hellmouth in Cleveland, but right after this all started," he nodded toward the sky, "the new slayer showed up. Things got out of hand and her Watcher got dead. With Dru in this condition I couldn't be looking over my shoulder for a vampire slayer. We're going to the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, as soon as I can figure out how to get near it without that prick of a master vampire who runs it killing both of us." He looked down at Drusilla. "But I'm starting to think we might be running out of time."  
"Your kind is immortal," Illyria said, "you have only time."  
Spike nodded, "Yeah, but there's life and then there's life."

***

"I wish to find this world's version of Wesley."  
Spike looked up, startled by Illyria's voice. She'd been staring blankly out the window for hours. If her presence hadn't been so unnerving, he might have almost forgotten she was there.  
"In my world he is your friend, and Angel's," she continued.  
Spike started to his feet, "In your world Angel and I are friends?" He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, "I guess it's possible . . .Once upon a time . . .Yeah, but, well, ironically in this world Angel's death is the reason there's nothing to be done for Dru and the only Wesley I know is one Wesley Wyndam-Pryce up in Cleveland "watching" that bitch of a slayer . . ." He trailed off when she jerked her head up in recognition.  
"That is he."  
Spike stared, "Right. So how'd he turn evil?"  
"He didn't. You . . .Are not as you are."  
"So we're - Angel and I - are. . . not evil, then. You're sure this universe of yours is parallel?" Illyria didn't answer.  
"Well, Blue, I'm not sure what crazy world you hit your head in, but if you're relying on that wanker to help you, you're better off here with me."  
Illyria shrugged dismissively. "Perhaps he is different as well. You concern yourself far too much with morality, in that world and in this. I weary of your narrow viewpoint. Good and evil are perceptions only. In my time we understood that; we understood what true power meant."

Spike never answered her, and she went back to watching the sky. Her senses were limited, and all the power trapped in the small human body rebelled against them. Somehow she was back in the timestream, a timestream, anyway, this world's timestream, but how it had happened, what held her here she couldn't be sure. No way to know if it would last, or if the power threatening to explode from her would rip her out again. It was hazy and dark; she stood by the window, watching the empty streets, imagining the plays of shadow and light she would once have been able to see. Once, she had walked dimensions by the simple desire to do so, traveled through worlds by her will alone. This was a whole other world. She had not expected this.

***

Spike saw Illyria duck into the other room when the knock came at the door. He opened it to find a very annoyed Lindsey McDonald.  
"Hey, Cowboy."  
"Don't call me that. Where is she?"  
"Who?"  
"Don't fuck with me, Spike. The old one, the ancient demon from before time began, who's leaking an insane amount of power all over this dimension . . ."  
Spike blinked. Lindsey sighed, "Illyria. About yea high, full body armor, blue hair . . . We tracked her here and if you play dumb, I will send someone to stake you, 'master vampire' or not. Don't think we can't control the vamps in this town without you. Did it before you ever showed up."  
"Wouldn't you rather stake me yourself?" Spike smirked.  
Lindsey glowered. "Spike . . ."  
"Okay then. Illyria. What's her deal?" Lindsey sighed, pushing his way past Spike and into the hallway.  
"She isn't from our dimension."  
"Lindsey, nothing is from our dimension anymore."  
"She isn't from our universe, Spike. We're talking parallel universes. This universe's Illyria is still in the deeper well and we've talked to Illyria's acolyte. He doesn't know shit. Plus, our equipment was reading off the charts; she's from a parallel universe."  
"So."  
"Our universe can't withstand a being with powers like hers, especially a being who doesn't belong. We've got to get her out of here."  
"Yeah, before the Senior Partners find out . . ."  
"You laugh now. You better hope for all our sakes that they don't."  
"You want my help?"  
"No. Not really. I just want to know where she is, though I wouldn't mind knowing what went wrong in our universe that didn't go wrong in hers."  
"Look, in her universe I'm friends with Watchers and she didn't even recognize Drusilla. I want no part of that universe."  
"You wish to send me back?" Illyria appeared in the doorway. Lindsey involuntarily took a step backward.  
"You can't stay here. It's no good for us and no good for you. Don't you want to go back?"  
Illyria considered for a moment, "I do not know what I wish. In this universe, I am part of the timestream, in the other . . . I do not know my fate," finally she nodded, "but my fate is there. I do not belong here, and this place is fragile, kept afloat by nothing. I will return."  
Spike looked at Lindsey, "So, how do we do that?"  
Lindsey looked back and forth between them, "You mean she doesn't know?"

Lindsey was pacing. Lilah watched him, mildly annoyed.  
"We need to talk to him," Lindsey said.  
"Lindsey, he's a crackpot. We need to get rid of Illyria."  
"He's a direct link to the Powers That Be!"  
"All the more reason not to mess with that!"  
"He knows, Lilah. I've said all along that he knows what happened here, what happened that shouldn't have. If Illyria is right and telling the truth, then whatever happened in her universe stopped this disintegration."  
"Well, what's different?"  
"For one thing, there's a souled vampire, Angel, who died on the Hellmouth several years ago here. In her dimension she says he's running this branch of Wolfram and Hart. She says he seems to be very important."  
"Any number of variations could have contributed. One might have nothing to do with the other. You're grasping at straws." She saw his smirk, "Fine. What else?"  
"You're dead."  
"Oh, that's great, Lindsey."

Some people didn't believe that the apocalypse had been an apocalypse. As strange as the world had turned, as disastrous an event as it had been, life had continued, though difficult. Wolfram and Hart didn't make that mistake. The apocalypse had been just that; it just wasn't sudden. The death throes were gradual and painful, but were leading inevitably to the finish. Very slowly, the world was ending around them. The Senior Partners really didn't like that it hadn't been their apocalypse.

The first time Lindsey had met Doyle it had been coincidental. They'd both been in Caritas listening to the rampant rumors of the demon world. Doyle, with his drunken talk of what he knew had gone wrong easily attracted Lindsey's attention. Lindsey didn't understand most of it, but he picked up a few things. Names like Angel and Buffy Summers. Words like Slayer and Champion. At first, Doyle had been easy to find, but Caritas had closed years before, and Doyle himself had deteriorated under the weight of the visions he claimed to have, both of pain he couldn't stop and of what should have been that never was. Now, when Lindsey wanted to find Doyle he searched through abandoned houses and the few demon contacts still scared of him because of his association with Wolfram and Hart. When he found Doyle this time, the other man was drunk as usual, passed out on the floor of his current apartment building. It was clean, compared with much of the squalor of the city, but old and with a feel of decay. Doyle looked up groggily at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, tried to scramble to his feet as the door opened and the light fell in a thin sliver across his face. He managed to get to a sitting position before he saw Lindsey. He relaxed, pushing himself back against the wall and reaching for the bottle behind him.  
"Oh. It's you. I hate you."  
"Are you going to yell at me again for being a servant of ultimate evil?"  
"No. That's what you would have been. Here you're a victim like the rest of us."  
"I need to talk to you."  
Doyle sighed. "I'm not stopping you."

***

Drusilla was vomiting blood, trembling and whimpering. Spike held her against him, stroking her hair. Illyria watched from the other side of the room, looking more curious than anything else.  
"She appears to be growing worse."  
"It comes and goes," Spike eased Drusilla back onto the couch and looked up at Illyria. "I have to take her to the other Hellmouth. I don't like it, but there's no choice."  
"Will that stop it?"  
"It won't make her better, but it will stop this, yes, it will help. Only thing is, the Master runs it. Real bastard, very controlling. I don't want to get caught up in his plans," he looked at her, considering.  
"You wish me to assist you in disposing of this other vampire?"  
"Will you?"  
"Your world does not concern me," she said, but she studied him. The power of the Hellmouth held a draw for her. She didn't understand what held her in the timestream here, and it would take a great source of power to knock her free again. She wasn't sure she wanted to return to her world. She could not trust those around her, the only companions she had, but she could not stay either.  
Spike continued, "The Master is dangerous, powerful, probably the most powerful vampire I've ever met."  
Illyria scoffed. "The ruler of a race of ants is still an ant."  
"Okay . . . right then . . . is that a yes?"  
"If I do not, will you go anyway?"  
Spike smiled tightly, "I'll do what needs to be done."  
Illyria nodded approvingly, "As stubborn in this world as in the other. I will assist you."

Lindsey caught them on their way out the door.  
"I think we've figured it out."  
"Oh, damn." Spike swore, "We're leaving. We're going to the Hellmouth."  
"We have to get Illyria out of our dimension."  
Spike studied him, "You're really gonna fight me on this?" Lindsey didn't move. Spike sighed, "Fine. But if you wanted to come with us, all you had to do was ask." He handed Drusilla to Illyria before he knocked Lindsey unconscious.

***

Two-thirds of the way to Sunnydale, Spike gave Lindsey his cell phone back. Trying to be coherent over his raging headache, Lindsey told Lilah what had happened. Irritated, she looked up at Doyle over the book they were studying. He took a swig out of the mug filled with coffee and Irish whiskey and pointed to one more prophecy that had never come to pass.  
"Look, Lindsey, what you were saying seems to be accurate. There's stuff here about a vampire with a soul named Angel and about a slayer the Master killed. Doyle says her name was Buffy Summers. Those two were not supposed to die."  
"So, do we know how to get Illyria back?"  
"We're working on it. You need to get her back to LA."  
"I'm working on it." Lindsey hung up, turning to Spike and Illyria, "So, Spike do you know a vamp named Angel?" Spike started, jerking the wheel, then said, too casually, "Sure, Dru's sire. Died on the Hellmouth several years back, what of him?" Lindsey shook his head.  
"What about a vampire slayer named Buffy?"  
Spike laughed. "Buffy? What kind of a name is Buffy? Sorry, no, but then, I don't even know the names of the ones I actually killed."

***

If Los Angeles had felt wrong, Sunnydale was worse. There was a heaviness in the air, and a darkness when the sun should have risen and didn't. It hit her hard when she stepped out of the car, leaving her reeling and leaning against the edge as Spike reached out to catch her arm.  
"You alright, pet?"  
"What is this place?"  
"The Hellmouth."  
The sign above the door still said Sunnydale High School, though the building itself looked ancient and faded, like the rest of the town they had driven through. Lindsey had directed them to the high school. Wolfram and Hart ran LA and the Master ran the Hellmouth, but the firm made it their business to know what was going on in a place of such power. Illyria swayed a little, fighting to center herself; something in the depths of the town making her certain she would go spinning out of control again. Drusilla leaned against Spike. Lindsey came up behind them, staring nervously at the building.  
"We're standing in plain sight."  
"Yep," Spike answered.  
"So what's the plan?"  
Spike turned to look at him.  
"That isn't a plan, Spike."  
"We have Illyria."  
"Illyria looks like she's about to be sick. Illyria does not look helpful."

***

She'd never been innocent that she remembered, though she must have been once. In her life and un-life she was many things. Demon and human. Lady and whore. Angelus's lover and a free agent. But that was before the end of the world. Once she wore ball gowns and corsets. Now, she looked like a child in plaid and lace and she spoke with a sweetness that fooled those who didn't know her and frightened those who did. She'd had another name once, but over time she forgot what it was to be anything but the mistress of the Hellmouth. She was shocked by nothing. She barely remembered the shock of Angelus's soul. She hadn't been shocked when he appeared on the Hellmouth, though unable to watch the unfolding events - she'd had to leave. She hadn't been shocked when she returned to find him dead; she'd stepped back into her role.  
She wasn't shocked when the Master called her to his side and told her what he sensed, and she wasn't shocked when she and her team stepped out of the school and came face to face with Angelus's play things Spike and Drusilla. Spike looked shocked, though he shouldn't have been. He flinched at her smile, but countered with a bravado she remembered too well.  
"Darla. How've you been, love?"  
The only thing that shocked her was that her command to those behind her went unheeded. One human, a strange looking demon, and Spike weighted down with a clearly ill Drusilla should have been no match for the Hellmouth vampires. And they weren't. It was the strange looking demon alone who took them out. No time to move, no time to think and her back was to the wall as the dust settled around her. She was staring into chilling blue and hearing Spike say low and taunting, "you know we just wanted to talk to you."  
"I don't breathe, you idiot," she hissed struggling against amazing strength. The woman in front of her seemed frail, as though she would snap easily. But then, Darla wasn't usually one to be swayed by an appearance of weakness or vulnerability.  
"No," Spike agreed, "but if I hit you hard enough you lose consciousness." He turned to someone else and smirked, "I told you we had Illyria."  
She barely felt the blow before she blacked out.

***

"This is getting ridiculous."  
"Shut up, Lindsey."  
"The half-breed wishes you harm and thinks herself important. You should dispose of her."  
"Not yet, Illyria."  
"Spike? Has Grandmummy forgotten us?"  
"Hush, Dru. Save your strength."  
Spike could support Drusilla with one arm as though she weighed nothing. He didn't like to think about it. He was taking comfort in the fact that she seemed more alert, but she also seemed crazier. She hummed softly to herself and giggled a little. Spike tried to ignore her as he followed after Illyria, who seemed to be sensing something unobservable even to Spike's senses. She'd refused to bring Darla. Lindsey had almost refused to bring Darla until Spike had pointed out that he didn't, in fact, know Darla and that everyone would feel much better knowing where she was at all times. He thought he almost saw Illyria roll her eyes. He kind of thought she would have if she had been human enough to know the meaning of the gesture. Instead she just looked disgusted and pointed out once again the advisability of "disposing of the female half-breed."  
The school had been ransacked. Books and papers littered the floor. One hallway looked as though it had actually been burned out. The occasional body lay forgotten in a corridor or just around a corner. Everything was quiet. Lindsey hated it. He'd learned to be human in a world of demons, and knew well that a show fear or even nervousness was the easiest way to get killed. Spike hated it. It wasn't his style. He didn't wait for the ambush, he screamed until it came to him. Illyria didn't care. Her companions irritated her and made too much noise, even the vampires. The feel of the place made her nauseous.  
Nothing happened. They edged down the stairs. "It's the bowels of the school. Should the school have bowels?" Lindsey hissed to Spike.  
"It should if it's really built over the Hellmouth," Spike hissed back.  
"This place reeks of power. Neither of you understand what we are approaching. Be silent." Illyria paused before an unmarked door holding up one hand to caution the others.  
"What are we..." Lindsey started when Spike nudged him in the ribs.  
"Shut up. She's right."  
Illyria turned to Spike, "how do you wish to proceed?"  
Spike had no chance to respond before the door flew open. Spike had heard horror stories of the Master from Angelus, had spent the majority of his early years with Angelus and Darla attempting to avoid ever encountering the Master. He'd met him only a few times, but those had been memorable enough that he recognized the voice immediately.  
"Spike. They always said you were trouble. What have you gotten yourself into this time?"  
The minions pulled them into the room.

***

As the ruler of the Hellmouth in a post-apocalyptic world, the Master was very frequently bored. There were demons everywhere; there were no human challenges anymore. There were very few humans at all, for that matter, and raiding parties had to be sent into surrounding towns or even as far as LA in order to get food. An attack by a vampire such as Spike was unlooked for entertainment, but he wasn't surprised. He thought the action was just like Spike, from what he'd heard from Darla and Angelus, or he would have thought that if he'd ever thought much of Spike at all.  
He wasn't surprised, though he was amused by the audacity.

What surprised him was how quickly everything happened once Spike and his companions were pulled into the room. The blue haired demon woman was clearly dangerous, and stronger than Spike. She was stronger than the other vampires as well and though they outnumbered her, none could seem to get close enough to harm her. Spike fought better than the Master remembered, faster and smarter and for the first time, the Master was reminded of Angelus.  
He was watching Spike and Illyria, not the human standing against the wall looking warily down at Darla, who was just beginning to stir.  
He was watching Spike and Illyria, so what surprised him in the moment before he turned to dust was that the blow came from behind, from the dark-haired, crazy slip of a girl who could barely stand upright. Drusilla pulled the stake back just before she fell over the arm of the chair. He was shocked; too shocked to feel pain or completely realize what had happened, though he did catch her faint whisper, "I should die alone in sunlight, but this world doesn't have that anymore."

When the Master fell the others fled, leaving Illyria looking after them, confused. Spike ran to Drusilla's side, smoothing her hair back from her face.  
"Didn't know you could do that, pet."  
"This world is wrong, you know. Nothing's as it should be here."  
Spike nodded and kissed her forehead. Across the room, Darla pushed herself into a sitting position as Lindsey edged further away from her. Holding her head, she crawled to her feet, glaring at Spike. He held his ground as she approached, but surprisingly she softened as she reached Drusilla, tentatively stroking her hair.  
"The Master is dead, Darla," Spike began.  
"That would seem to be the case," she surveyed the dust covered floor, remembering an old life with satin sheets and a view of the Seine, not convinced one was better than the other. Finally she turned to Spike, shaking her head, "There isn't a vampire in the city who will listen to you. This place has forgotten any passing fame William the Bloody ever had."  
"And the Scourge of Europe too?" She looked away; Spike was still staring at her when she looked back. "I know that, Darla. That's why I needed you."  
"You and Drusilla kill the Master and you offer me the position of power?"  
"You'd take it anyway."  
"True." she smiled. "It would be a battle. I'd win."  
"I know." This time he looked away, "We need to stay here."  
Darla glanced down at Drusilla, seeming to consider, but when she looked back up at Spike her voice was dismissive, "Fine."  
She eyed Lindsey where he stood against the wall. "A present, Spike?" Lindsey glared at Spike defiantly. Spike shrugged.  
"You can eat him if you want, but you should know he works for Wolfram and Hart."  
Darla considered that, "He has power in the firm?"  
"Some."  
She turned back to Lindsey with new interest, "You might just be interesting. For a human."

Spike followed Illyria when she retreated back up the stairs and into the would-be day.  
"Thank you."  
"It was a diversion-" she cut off as the pain lanced through her.  
"You alright, pet?"  
"The death of the Master vampire released too much power. He was tied to this place. The other, she can't control it and I . . . I can't control the time-"  
When he reached for her, his hand seemed to pass through her arm before she collapsed.

***

"What's going on?" Lilah looked up sharply when Lindsey dragged a near-unconscious Illyria back into the room.  
"She's been like this since the Hellmouth," Lindsey shook his head, "every time she regains consciousness she's disoriented, like she doesn't know where she is. The release of power when the Master vampire died might have done the job for us."  
Lilah raised an eyebrow, "The Master is dead? The Senior Partners are going to love that."  
"Yeah," Lindsey said, distracted. "Hey, Doyle, what do we know about her universe?"  
Doyle shook his head sadly, leafing through the large book in front of him, "Nothing that will help us save ourselves."  
Illyria gasped sharply, jerking upright.

A human shied away from her in the street.  
The soldier men of Wolfram and Hart fell at her hands.  
Drusilla whimpered at the sight of her.  
A dragon passed above her head.  
The Master crumpled to dust.  
Lilah clapped from the doorway. "Now that was just impressive."

***

And the sourness in the air was gone. Suddenly the light was familiar, and her power bled from every pore. Staring up at Wesley and slumped on the floor of the training room, she glanced around, panicked and panting in confusion.  
The look he gave her was almost concerned. He approached her carefully, but she tightened, glaring up at him, feeling the last of ancient power seep from her body.  
"Touch me and die, vermin."  
Spike, the other Spike, glanced at Wesley from across the room, "Not a very dramatic difference, really."  
Wesley shook his head almost sadly, "Everything is different."  
For once, Illyria held her tongue. He had no idea how right he was.

Days later, Spike found Illyria sitting by the plants in the lobby, staring at them intensely.  
"Look, Blue, I know . . ."  
"Do not speak of things you will never understand." She cut him off, but when he started to walk away, she stopped him with a hand on his arm, "This world . . . is it as you believe it should be?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"The soul you possess, and your loyalties. They're rare for a . . .Vampire."  
Spike shrugged, studying her, "It's alright, I guess. Is what it is. I'm guess I'm glad I've got it if that's what you mean."  
She nodded in dismissal, but as he walked away she murmured, half to herself and half to the plants who could no longer hear her, "I have seen another way."


End file.
